<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>acceptance by keyringkie</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340360">acceptance</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyringkie/pseuds/keyringkie'>keyringkie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>their blessing, his burden [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Gods &amp; Goddesses, Deity Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Deity Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Deity Wilbur Soot, Gen, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Karl Jacobs, tommy's a murderer but it's only mentioned once</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:34:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,989</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340360</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyringkie/pseuds/keyringkie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy’s… what, sixteen? Seventeen now? He looks exhausted, but a fire burns in his eyes. Anger, passion. Spite, maybe. He really… shouldn’t be standing in his condition.</p><p>He swipes his free hand through his hair, groaning.</p><p>“This whole thing is your fault.”</p><p>-  +  -</p><p>Or: Tommy is sick and tired of his fate. He never asked to be a hero. So he runs all the way down to the underworld to yell at those who made him one.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>their blessing, his burden [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028108</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>218</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>acceptance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy grits his teeth, watching the stone and vines rumble out of sight, silver gates glaringly bright in the moonlight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabs the bars, hissing slightly as he wrenches them open. The metal is deceptively hot under his palms, burning his skin as the gates burst open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heavy footsteps echo in the cavern, and he halts for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s so… peaceful here. Calm. Beautiful, even. His fist curls tightly, fingers still scalding hot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why do they deserve this, when he’s been through so much?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He marches across paths, prattling on to himself while he winds his way towards the most logical place for the three gods to be: the large temple, floating in the center of the cavern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s… well, it’s almost like the sea temples he’s seen in his travels. Shimmering blue water falls down the sides in torrents, organized so it spills tactically in areas it won’t flood. The prismarine seems to shift in the light, rippling ever so slightly when you avert your eyes. Arches and gateways lead into a large building, staircases and clean waterfalls winding their way around the exterior.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no direct paths towards the temple. (At least, not one he can see. Dumb gods. Dumb gods with </span>
  <em>
    <span>wings</span>
  </em>
  <span>.) The only building really attached is a small island that hovers directly below it, a ladder connecting the two. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grumbles, hauling himself to the base of the island and staring up at the waterfalls, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he starts to swim up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Terrible, terrible idea. His hands still burn from touching the gates, the rushing water thundering against his skin in too many ways that hurt too much to describe, but he grits his teeth and swims.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches the base of the island and hauls himself onto a small dry platform, coughing and panting as he splays himself against the ground. Footsteps approach, and he closes his eyes, trying to prepare himself in any way possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand gravitates towards his sword, running his fingers along the handle to reassure himself before he forces himself to sit up, glaring behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil hovers behind him, wringing his hands. Blond hair is hidden beneath a flimsy hat, striped green and white. Techno stands a few paces behind Phil, braid hanging a few inches longer than Tommy last remembered. He wears a collared shirt and precariously belted pants, hands clutching a dusty red cape. He maneuvers out of the way of Phil’s wings, which are haphazardly fluttering about. Wilbur stands close to Techno, studying Tommy. Brown hair curls down the left side of his face, neatly covering one of his eyes. Yellow sleeves cover the golden wristbands that push against his skin, complaints silenced by hundreds of years of pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A scowl builds on his face, and Tommy hauls himself to his feet. His sword remains at his side, but he never once releases the handle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, then. You bastards are the reason I’m in this mess, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil takes a step back, startled. His wings still. Techno scoffs, trading a glance with Wilbur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s… what, sixteen? Seventeen now? He looks exhausted, but a fire burns in his eyes. Anger, passion. Spite, maybe. He really… shouldn’t be standing in his condition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swipes his free hand through his hair, groaning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This whole thing is your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur clears his throat, shifting his weight from side to side. Techno raises an eyebrow, glancing at the sword in Tommy’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You could say that, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil glances worriedly between Techno and Tommy, lips slightly parted. He looks like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>to say something, but he’s silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rushing water fills the following quiet, the air so tense you could slice it with a butter knife. Water drips off of Tommy’s clothes periodically, forming a puddle by his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil manages to make a noise of sorts, before he forms coherent words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are your hands… okay? The gates can burn pretty badly, I have some-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy cuts him off, scowling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno makes some sort of disinterested noise, relaxing slightly as he gives Tommy a once-over. The kid looks… burnt out. His hands are shaking slightly, shirt sticking to his skin from all the water. His hair looks dirty and tangled, even with the recent swim, and a black feather, inked on his skin, barely peeks out from under his sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy crosses his arms, glaring at Technoblade. Most would be shaking in their goddamn boots, facing the so-called blood god, but Tommy only raises his chin slightly and adjusts his footing, planting himself firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked a question, bitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil continues to try and offer some sort of treatment, Tommy’s anger becoming more and more visible as the seconds tick by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forget my </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> hands! They’ll be fine, just like everything else! Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>explain! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Why me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waves his arms forcibly, huffing as he glares down the three gods in turn. He stands a little straighter, trying to match Wilbur in height. A smile tugs at the creation god’s lips from the childish movement, but he’s quick to bite it back. Now is not the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil pauses, glancing at Techno for a moment, brow creased. He pulls off his hat, clearing his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, I’m not-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> say my name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pure malice in Tommy’s voice startles him, the fabric scrunching a bit between his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...pardon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t- None of you deserve to say it. You raised me up like some goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>trophy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and why? That’s what I’m asking, and you didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>earn</span>
  </em>
  <span> my permission for all of this, so I refuse to let you say my name until you at least answer my question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno and Phil exchange a look, worry and pity in green-blue eyes meeting steady and compliant red and green, but it’s Wilbur who speaks first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It- it was a mixture of pity-” Tommy’s gaze hardens, fingers curling on his own arms, pinching at his skin- “and hope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy is silent for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...the fuck does that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur runs a hand through his hair absently, hesitating a moment. “It means… it means that I know what you’re going through. What you </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> go through. But I also know where you’ll end up, and for the first time since I’ve ever made anything, all of your choices add up to the same ending.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brown eyes soften as he talks, smiling faintly as he thinks of what Tommy has in store. The potential he holds, the future he’ll bring. A glimpse of light, blinding and black and smoke, of sickness beyond reason and fires across the world and Tommy in the center of it all, laughing as he runs amidst the destruction, and then Wilbur is jolted back to reality and staring down an angry and tired sixteen year old, soaking wet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clears his throat. “So… I blessed you. Because Phil and Techno had already, and it would make some things easier for you in the future. Maybe it was- okay, it’s definitely unfair, because I could tell that it would make some things better, but it’s all I can do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A weak smile finds its way to his lips, and he lets out a soft laugh. “Three is always a better number than two, anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy lets out some distant noise of acknowledgement, turning Wilbur’s words over in his head, but he can barely process that before Phil manages to get a word in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still not sure why I turned you away. I’ve thought about it almost every day for the past few years, and there’s no… real reason. A hunch, maybe. Some distant memory colliding with the present, perhaps, but you found the gates too fast and it didn’t feel right for you to come home yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this what this is? Home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s voice is quieter than it’s been all evening, and Phil smiles slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. This is your home, To- this is your home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds his breath at his mistake, but Tommy glazes over it, instead focusing on Technoblade, breath held expectantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The aforementioned god raises an eyebrow, leaning against one of the largest pillars that decorate the entrance of the temple. Tommy taps his foot impatiently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well???”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno rolls his eyes. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you gonna explain yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...do I need to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy scrutinizes Techno for a moment before exasperatedly throwing his hands in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I’d REALLY appreciate it if you did, motherfucker-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil makes a sort of worried noise in the back of his throat, nervously putting his hands up. “Woah, ‘kay- </span>
  <em>
    <span>strongly</span>
  </em>
  <span> recommend not calling a god of war a ‘motherfucker’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stifles a laugh behind his hand, coughing when Techno glances at him. He gives Techno a thumbs up, biting his lip and doing his best to keep a straight face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I feel like at this point I could call any of you three whatever the hell I want, and you can’t do jack shit about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy crosses his arms, drumming his fingers on his forearm. “‘Sides, he still needs to give me an answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m right here.” Techno just sounds… tired of the kid. Or maybe that’s just how he always is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy huffs. “Just give me your fucking answer already then!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You lived.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy fidgets slightly, thrown off by the sudden pause. When it’s clear Techno doesn’t intend to continue, his scowl deepens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno shrugs. “That’s the gist of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He furrows his brow, running a hand through his wet blond hair. It sticks up at weird angles and Wilbur has to fight the urge to slide over and smooth it down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>got</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be fucking with me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody ever lives, Tommy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno’s tone is as flat as ever, but there’s the tiniest hint of something… else. Remorse? Regret? There’s a pain beyond words dull in his eyes, numbed from centuries of destruction and bloodshed and smoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s- that’s my point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur coughs to hide a laugh, straightening his face when Phil looks at him pointedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My point is- you… survived? You were basically one of the first people I’ve seen actually survive the massacre Dream leaves behind. And uh. You saw me, unprompted. So-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He WHAT-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy, Wilbur, and Techno alike jump at Phil’s exclamation. Tommy’s sword is out in an instant, though he glances at it sheepishly after he realizes he’s holding it, slowly sheathing it again. Wilbur physically jumps three feet into the air, hovering awkwardly above the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I told you that already-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“NO YOU FUCKIN’ DIDN’T, MATE??”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur awkwardly clears his throat, drifting back onto the ground lightly. He looks at Tommy apologetically, the blond visibly confused by Phil and Techno’s small argument.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Karl said he saw Dream too? Why’s it a big deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur sighs, sliding closer to Tommy and ignoring the intense exchange behind the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods are invisible to normal mortals, unless they so choose otherwise. Seeing one either means fate has fucked with you or you’re a godling. Demigod. Hero. Whatever they’re calling themselves these days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...ah. I still don’t get why Phil’s making a big deal out of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur shrugs. “Fate is a mysterious thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’d know wouldn’t you, fuckin’ creator bitchboy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette visibly recoils, rubbing his sleeves. “...right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy glances over at Wilbur for a second before he turns away from the three gods and marches straight into the temple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-it’s been ELEVEN YEARS and you NEVER- oh god where’s he going-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur giggles at Phil’s sudden change in demeanor, lazily drifting through the air. His body sways in a wind nobody else seems to feel, kicking back in the open air of the courtyard. He hovers a few feet above the floor, rolling over to stare at Techno.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better go get your hero boy, right Techie?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call me that again and I’ll abandon you the next time we go out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you wish you could get rid of me that easily.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil’s footsteps are loud in the prismarine hallways. It’s easy to avoid him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy ducks into room after room, poking around the temple these gods seem to call home. “These gods” - his goddamn patrons, the reason he’s out fighting wars and risking his life every other week at </span>
  <em>
    <span>sixteen years old</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Stupid fucking gods. Stupid fucking fate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kicks over a table, watching the wood fall onto the floor with a satisfying crash. Papers scatter through the air, falling awkwardly to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ducking into the next room, he only takes a moment to look around. A portal glows white near the back, casting a strange light on the objects scattered about. The hallway’s sea lanterns don’t seem to reach inside, giving this strange effect of darkness surrounded by the brightly lit corridors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Random objects are scattered about, assorted items from other dimensions and lands. Some he recognizes, the glint of end rods and a small stack of mycelium catching his eye. Others he can’t place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A glowing red crystal, chipped into a half-finished heart. An emerald green sword, enchantments carved into the blade gleaming purple. A netherite block etched with countless patterns, sharp and angular symbols carved into the smooth metal.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stares at the portal for a moment, lingering at the entrance. Where does it go? What would happen if he stepped inside?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can do anything more than consider it, footsteps grow louder down the corridor. Tommy swears and books it the opposite direction, taking a hard left and nearly getting lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds himself in one of the outer circling hallways, crouching in a small niche out of sight of the main doorway. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why is he hiding?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds his breath as he hears Phil approach, the steady buzz in the air caused by nervous fluttering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why is he cowering?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No, he’s not cowering. Why would he be? That would be stupid.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is he scared?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>What is there to be scared of?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil leaves after a few seconds. Tommy exhales slowly, uncurling himself and climbing back down onto the main floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His feet hit the ground with a muted thump and he tenses for a moment, waiting for Phil to come barreling in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment of silence passes. He slumps in relief, running a hand through his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stupid gods. Entitled motherfuckers. Don’t know how good they have it, don’t know what they’ve done.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He mumbles angrily to himself as he kicks out a loose wall panel, crawling through the small hole and replacing it quickly. He sighs, sitting for a moment on the roof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stares up at the ceiling. Cavernous darkness stares back, crystals and vines hanging along the rocky surface. Lanterns cast dim lighting on the silhouetted floating islands and bridges, wood creaking in a wind that doesn’t seem to reach him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s all their fault.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gods are the reason his family’s dead and he can’t remember his mother’s face. Gods are the reason he’s never had a home. Gods are the reason he was a murderer at twelve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gods are the reason he has to live the life of a hero.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They explained themselves, didn’t they? Tommy supposes their stories tie in with each other, Phil saving him causing Techno to see him causing Wilbur to know him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They blessed him for such trivial reasons. He should be- he should’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the afterlife, </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> ago. Should have been “home”, as Phil called it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pang in his chest, a wave of familiarity washing over him. There’s a sense of nostalgia in the air, something in his soul settling in the right way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe… it is home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur appears around the corner and any sense of acceptance he was feeling smothers itself under the anger that leaps out of nowhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits up, feeling his back pop in some way that feels satisfying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fuck do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The god drifts closer, still keeping a good five feet of distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m proud of you, Toms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That… wasn’t what he was expecting. Tommy scowls, glancing away. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur shrugs, settling on the floor as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You keep going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not like I have a choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur laughs, tugging at his sleeve. “There’s always a choice. You refuse to give up, even if you’ve thought about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifts slightly, crossing his legs. “You’ve done so much in so little time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy exhales slowly, rolling his eyes. “Been at this for like, eight years. ‘Course I’ve done something in that time. Thought you of all people would know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sad smile settles on Wilbur’s face. “Got me there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy glances at Wilbur and makes a face, staring off towards the main lands of the afterlife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still don’t get why you lot chose me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur laughs quietly. “Didn’t we just explain it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods are complicated. Lot of ‘em now were human first. They don’t choose heroes lightly. Hell, I’ve known Phil for centuries and you’re the first one I’ve seen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy stretches, glancing at his arms, where a black tattooed wingtip peeks out from under his sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...can see why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur grins, scooting a little closer to Tommy. He doesn’t move to make him back away, so Wilbur takes it as permission.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t flinch when I called you your name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up. You seem alright anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two sit together atop the roof for a few minutes longer, enjoying the company. Hero and creator, together for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They know that soon, Tommy will leave again to continue his quest, hands throbbing from the burns of the gate. Soon, Wilbur will leave again with Technoblade to bring the dead to the afterlife, a guide to the spirits who just lost everything. Soon, he’ll be pacing in the Nook, watching Tommy’s fate tick by slowly, nervously tugging at his hair. Soon, they will part ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, however, he has him here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now acceptance is enough.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this took me like two months on and off to work on because i scrapped and rewrote so many times. Pain. i have three or four oneshots planned for this au before i'll probably stop writing for it, no promises when they'll come out. </p><p>AlsO to clear up any possible confusion: phil says it's been eleven years because that's when they both initially blessed tommy; tommy says it's been eight since that's how long it's been since he stopped training with karl.</p><p>-  +  -</p><p>socials<br/>tumblr: keyring-kieran<br/>instagram: keyringkie</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>